Courtney's Still Missing
by DreamingSpiritBells
Summary: Some things you should know about me: I sleep in my closet every night now. I killed someone once. And no, I didn't use to be such a bitch.; For over a year, Courtney was held prisoner in a cabin in the woods. Now she's back, and she's ready to tell her gruesome story- her way. Read the warning inside please!
1. Chapter 1

_**WARNING!**_

_**1.)This fan-fic contains violent language and mature themes such as: mentions of rape and abuse. If you are offended by it, don't read it. Don't report me or flame me for it, this warning, and this story's rating, is here for a reason. Please and thank you.**_

_**2.)Yes, this is based off a book called 'Still Missing' by Chevy Stevens. I do not own her work- she does. She has the rights to all her characters, and the Total Drama creators own all of the characters of Total Drama that I have used.**_

_**3.)There is Duncan/Gwen in here for a bit, as well as Courtney/Trent. Only a little bit, and that changes after Courtney comes home. If you have a problem with these couples as well, don't read this story.**_

_**4.)Updates. I don't know when I'll update... I guess it will depend on the reviews and if I can think of good situations for this story.**_

_**5.)This story starts with Courtney talking to her therapist, Lindsay. Throughout most of this story it's going to be like that. Lindsay will never directly talk to Courtney unless I think up a situation where it should happen, just so you kow/get a basic idea of this...**_

_**6.)I love you.**_

_**Enjoy~~~~ Ashleygirl**_

_**0000000000000**_

_**Still Missing, Courtney's Tale**_

So it's our first session already, huh? Wow. Time flies- it was only a week ago that I set this up, and I'm already regretting it.

You see, Doc- I'm going to call you Doc. No first name bullshit- we're not friends, here. There's no cuddling up with me and stroking my hair- and I swear to God if you even _think_ of asking me how this makes me feel, I'll be out your door and you'll have one less patient to deal with.

Besides, you already know everything- well, at least the main story. The whole I-got-kidnapped-by-a-psycopath shit that everyone refuses to let go. Yeah. I'm a great patient already, huh?

If we're going to do this, we're going to have some ground-rules here.

Number 1: No interrupting. You let me tell it my way, or I'm gone. Number 2: No telling me what to do about this shit, how to handle it. Number 3: No asking me 'how it makes me feel', like I said. Number 4: Refer to numbers one through three.

Got it? Good. I like you already- which is big for me, because I don't like people anymore. People used to be ok, they used to be fun- now? No way. I'm not stepping into that fucking bubble and getting lost again. But you? You're a bit ditzy. More of the stereotype that people think when they think of blondes- and you seem to know where your place is. I like that.

I'm also glad that your office is on the first floor. If it was on a second floor, high up, no exits- I'd be out that window before you could even shake my hand and tell me your name- Lindsay, right? Blond name. Fits you well.

My name's Courtney Hale- but you already know that. Everyone does- you can't go near Canada anymore without thinking,"Hey, isn't that where that Courtney girl was kidnapped for over a year?"

But here's some things you need to know before we get started here, Lindsay. Things that you're going to have to fucking accept if you want to get any information out of me. Maybe I'm confessing to make myself feel better- I've already fricking explained the story enough times, but every time I say it... I can't stop picturing his face.

Number 1: I sleep in my closet every night with my dog outside the door. Every. Fricking. Night.

Number 2: I killed someone once.

And no. I wasn't always such a bitch.

**0000000000000000**

It started with my first big case- the one where that girl claimed she was raped by that one guy? Yeah, that case was mine. I won it, too- should've made me happy.

On the way back to my office, I had stopped off at a little gas-station to grab something for dinner- I take it you don't like gross food from the gas-station, you're face just scrunched up. Anyways, I was waiting for the cashier to ring up my stuff and I caught sight of this flier.

It wasn't anything that would've immediately caught my attention- just a picture of some missing girl that some family wanted found. I know, ironic, right? I remember wondering how this one flier caught my attention, but I felt nothing. I didn't know that girl, I wasn't her family- I did want her to be found, though.

Once I got back to my office, the day was nearing its end, and I was back at my office shuffling papers when the janitor walked in- long straggly red hair, green eyes, a face that wouldn't necessarily stick in your head.

"Just cleaning up," he rasped- must have had asthma, I guessed. I nodded- the janitors here never bothered me, after all. They usually came in a started cleaning up without acknowledging me.

For a few minutes, it was quiet, and then he lumbered on up to me- the action caught me off-guard, until he smiled. He had a nice, friendly smile. One that made me relax.

"You're a lawyer, right?" his raspy voice came out, and I quirked an eyebrow at him and nodded,"Yes, why?"

"A friend of mine is in a situation, and he needs a good lawyer- I was wondering if you'd want to consider taking on his case?" he asked, and I thought it over- I loved winning a case. It was in my blood- my dad won some of the most talked about cases up here in Canada, and I was right on track to follow in his footsteps.

"Sure, I'd be happy to help, is there any way he could meet me sometime? I'd need to discus his case," I replied, nodding as I threw my purse on and tucked a strand of my mocha-colored hair behind my ear.

He nodded and blushed like I was the most charming thing ever and asked,"Well, if it isn't too much trouble, I'm supposed to meet him and his girlfriend for dinner- if it'd be alright with you, I could take you with me and we could discuss his case over dinner."

See, looking back now- it should have put up alarm bells in my head. I should have had an instinct on whether or not this guy was an okay guy- but here's the thing:

He was like a puppy. Eager to please with a killer smile and a persuasive, confident sense of self. People like that are easy to trust, huh? Everyone's easy to trust when you first meet them.

So I said yes and we walked to his car- a big-ass white van filled with cleaning supplies.

As soon as we got a few feet from it, I felt an odd sensation of my lower back, and as I looked up at him, a smile twisted his lips and he leaned over like we were the best of friends and said,"Do as I say and get in the back of the van, and you won't get hurt."

See, now, my first instinct was obviously to fight back- maybe I could drive my hand up and shove his nose back into his brain, maybe I could kick back and dislocate/break his knee-cap.

But he had a gun against my spinal chord. If I tried, all I'd get was a shot through my spinal chord that could render my legs absolutely useless. I'd probably bleed out and die- no one else was around. It took me too damn long to realize that, and we didn't have any cameras in this building.

I was still at the bottom of my league- granted, after this case I probably would have been promoted to a much nicer, safer building, but that wasn't what had happened, so I was stuck.

I did as I was told, until he had me open the back doors- and that's when I started to try to plead with him.

"Please," I gasped as he shoved the tip of his gun right up against the lower part of my spine,"I'll do anything... you want my money? Take it. I-if you're going to rape me, please... just knock me out first and leave, I promise not to tell anyone, I swear-"

He rubbed his hand up my arm, sending shivers all throughout me as he practically snarl-rasped in my ear,"Now, now, Courtney- no need to get upset. We're just going to go for a nice, long drive."

He shoved me in, had me get on my stomach, and felt up my legs.

It was then that I realized that I was crying- hard, gut wrenching, shaking sobs that had no sound. I'd never cried like that before- not when my dad died, taking my sister with him. And certainly not when my mother started drinking.

I tried to talk again, but he snarled from behind me and jabbed the gun into my spine harder than before, shutting me up instantly.

And then I felt a prick in the back of my right leg, and everything went black.

**000000000000000**

I can see the way you've tensed up, Lindsay. It's rather amusing how obvious people are about not liking something. The first therapist I saw when I came back was a lot different from you- and he didn't hesitate to blab about me. I left as soon as I could, and it took me nearly three months to start thinking about taking therapy sessions again.

It makes me wonder what you'll do. This sounds rather sick, but you remind me of The Freak- that's what I called him, now and then, though he never knew. You remind me of his good side- the one where he had a puppy-like air about him. Innocent.

But you don't wear a mask. It's funny- after how long I was kept away from society, now, I can see people's masks really damn well. I can read facial expressions way better than I could before I was taken.

It also makes me wonder what you'll be like once I get to... those parts. The parts that are what keep me up at night, what keeps me locked in my hallway closet every night with my eyes wide open and my ears tuned in to every little sound. It makes me shy away from people- makes my guard go up whenever anyone- even a little old lady- is near.

Lola- my husky-malamute mix- thinks she's protecting me by laying outside my door. She seems to be the only one that I want to be around, nowadays.


	2. Chapter 2

_**WARNING!**_

_**1.)This story containg violent language and situations that are not for the faint-hearted. If this bothers you, either don't read or block the words out in your head.**_

_**2.)We're getting down to the meat and bones of this story- though we're still on the surface. Please bear with me.**_

_**3.)Unfortunately, I had to borrow a few very key things from the book in the chapter- dialogue, for instance, and the description of the cabin. In future chapters I hope that I can branch off and not use a lot of the dialogue, but everything The Freak and Courtney say to each other drives the points, and themes, home. If you are bothered by this, please do not read any further.**_

_**4.)As I stated in the first chapter, there is Duncan/Gwen and Courtney/Trent in here. These couples will change over time, but for now that is how it is. In this chapter there's a a little Courtney/Trent, and if you are bothered by it then you my choose to not read ahead or you may instead imagine it as another guy. **_

_**5.)I hope you d enjoy this if you're planning to read ahead, I'm not trying to dissuade you from reading this- I just want to be cautious, since this is the first M-rated, long story I've done in a long time- and this one I'm actually putting on here. Plus, I personally love this book and its whole plot-line, and the themes! For those who decide to review, tell me some themes you found in this chapter, or some allusions, maybe? They're fun to spot.**_

_**Enjoy!~~~Ashleygirl**_

_******00000000000000**_

_**Session Two**_

Before we start this session up here, Doc, I think it's only fair I fill you in on something- if I'm going to climb aboard the non-bullshit train, I should ride it to the end of the line. When I told you I was screwed up, I meant the I-can't-even-go-to-bed-without-checking-every-damn-lock-and-every-damn-window-in-my-own-house kind of fucked. It was tricky as hell when I first got home- well, not home. My mom's house. I slept in their closet after they went to bed and crawled out before morning so no one would know I did it. Now that I'm back in my old place, it's a bit easier- I can control all the variables.

But I still can't have anyone over- what if they left a door unlocked? What if they left a window opened? If I wasn't already waltzing with the crazy-train, then running around and checking everything at least fifty times before I went to 'bed' while trying not to let anyone see what I'm doing would guarantee me a dance.

When I first got home, I thought that if I could just find some damn support group- someone who I could buddy-up with and spew the same bullshit with, I'd be ok in the end. But nothing like that exists- there's no 'Some Jackoff Decided to Play the Sickest Game With Me Annonymous', online or off.

And anyway, the whole concept of anonymity is complete and utter shit right now. Everyone knows me- like I said, if you even come within a few feet of Canada now, you thinks 'hey, that' where that lawyer got taken,right?'. I'm not safe. I'm not sound.

Everyone knows who I fucking am, and even if I did manage to track down some form of support group, I bet you anything that one of its 'supportive members' would be cashing in on my shit the moment she walked out the door. Sell my pain to some tabloid and get herself a cruise or a plasma TV. You'd be surprised how many reporters want to get at me- and how often they get it back asswards- as well as how many TV shows are willing to pay for an interview.

I didn't want the money at first, but hell, I need it. I'm not a lawyer anymore. I don't have a job. I can barely afford my house, now.

So, anyways. Back to today.

On my way here, an ambulance came screaming up behind my damn car- the guy had to have been doing over a hundred, and he just about gave me a heart-attack. I hate sirens. If they're not scaring the living daylights out of me, which isn't exactly hard to do these days- hell, Chihuahuas are probably more stable- they're sending me into a family-flachback mode. I'd rather have the heart attack.

And before you even think of salivating over what possible hidden issues I have with ambulances and sirens ad what my hostility towards them could be pointing to, chill. Thinking you're going to have me shrink-wrapped in no time is not going to be the case here, Doc. We've just started wading through all my damn crap- I hope you brought a big shovel.

When I was ten, my dad picked up my older sister, Ava, from the skating arena where she had ice-skating practice. This was during one of mom's Italian cuisine stages and she's been making some Italian pasta and soup while we waited. Most of my childhood memories are wrapped in the aroma and flavors of whatever country's food she was into at the time, and m ability to eat certain foods depends on the memory. I can't eat any typer of Italian pasta, can't even smell it without hurling now.

As sirens passed by our house that night, I turned the volume up on my show to drown them out. Later, I found out the sirens had been for Dad and Ava.

On their way home, Dad had stopped at the corner store, and then, as they pulled out into the intersection, a drunk driver ran the red and hit them head-on. Asshole crumpled up our Ford Fusion like a used Kleenex. I spent years wondering if they'd still be alive if I hadn't begged my dad to pick up ice cream for dessert. The only thing that made it possible to move on was thinking their deaths were the worst thing that could ever, ever happen in my life.

I was wrong.

**00000000000000**

After the injection in my leg- and before I'd passed out- I remember two things: the scratchy blanket that had been pressed against my face, and the scent of lilac perfume.

Waking up, for half a second I wondered why I didn't feel Lola beside me. Then I opened my eyes and saw a white pillowcase. Mine were green.

I sat up so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. My head spun and I wanted to throw up all over the damn white sheets. With my eyes wide open and my ears straining to hear every sound, I scanned my surroundings. I was in a log cabin, six hundred square feet or so, and I could see almost everything in it from my spot on the bed. The man with the red hair and green eyes wasn't there. My relief only lasted a few seconds. If he wasn't here, where was he?

I could see part of the kitchen from my spot- in front of me was a wood stove and to its right, a door. I thought it was night, but I wasn't sure. The two windows on the right side of the door and the bed I was in had shutters on them or were boarded up. A couple of ceiling lights were on, another was mounted to the wall by the bed, My first impulse was to run to the kitchen- let him try and get me when I had a knife in my hand. But whatever he'd injected me with hadn't worn off yet.

My legs turned to jelly, and I fell to the floor, banging my head roughly against the hard surface.

I lay there for a few moments, then crawled, then pulled myself up and looked around again.

Everything had a padlock on it except one drawer.

Leaning heavily on the counter, I rifled through the one drawer I could open but couldn't find anything more lethal than a towel. I took a few deep breaths and tried to come up with some clues as to where I was.

My watch was missing and there were no clocks, the windows were, as I said, boarded up, so I couldn't guess at what time of day it was, because I had no idea how far away from my home I was, because I had no idea how long I'd been unconscious. My head felt like someone was squeezing it in a vise. I made my way to the farthest corner in between the bed and the wall, put my back into it as far as I could, and stared at the door until my eyes felt like they were dried up, and even then, I still stared on.

_**00000000000000**_

I crouched in the corner of that damn cabin for what seemed like hours. I felt cold all over and couldn't stop shaking.

Was Trent pulling into my driveway, calling my cell, paging me? What if he thought I was working late again and forgot to cancel, so he just went home? Had they found my car? What if I'd been gone for hours and nobody had even started looking for me? Had anybody even called the cops? And what about Lola? I imagined her all alone in my home, hungry, wanting her walk, and whimpering.

The crime shows I've watched on TV cycled through my mind. **CSI**- the one set in Las Vegas- was my favorite. Grisom would've just gone to the office where I was abducted and, by taking close-ups of the parking garage and analyzing a speck of dirt on the pavement he'd know exactly what had happened and where I was. I wondered if Alberta even had a CSI unit. The only time I ever saw the Royal Canadian Mounted police on TV was when they rode their horses in a parade or busted another cocaine filled house.

Every second The Freak left me alone, I imagined more and more brutal deaths. Who would tell my mom when they found my mangled body? What if my body was never found?

I still remember her screams when the phone call came about the accident, and from then on it was really damn rare to see my own mother, an older version of me, without a bottle of Vidka in her hands. I only recall a few times when I saw her outright drunk, though. Generally she was just 'blurry'. She's still beautiful, but to me, she seems like a once-vibrant painting whose colors have bled into one another, masking the once intricate design.

I replayed what might be the last conversation we'd ever have- an argument a few days before I was taken over a stupid fucking cappuccino machine. Why didn't I just give her the damn thing? I'd been so pissed at her, and now I'd do anything to have that moment back- to take this all back.

**00000000000000**

My legs were cramped from holding one position too long. Time to get up and explore the cabin.

It looked old, like those fire ranger cabins you see up in the mountains, but it had been customized. The Freak had thought of everything to keep me locked away like one of those stupid Disney Princesses. There were no springs in the bed. It was only two soft mattresses made from some kind of foam, lying on a solid wood frame. A large wooden wardrobe stood on the right side of the bed, next to the window. It had a keyhole, but when I tried to pull on the doors they wouldn't budge. The wood stove and its rock hearth were behind a padlocked screen. The drawers and all the cupboards were made of some kind of metal, finished to look like wood. I couldn't even kick my way in.

There was no crawl space or attic and the cabin door was steel. I tried to turn the handle- prayed it would open, actually- but it was locked from the outside. I felt along its edges for brackets, hinges, anything that could be undone, but there was nothing. I tried pressing my ear to the ground, but not one sliver of light came through the bottom, and when I ran my fingers along the base I couldn't feel any cool air. There had to be one hell of a weather strip around that damn thing. When I tried rapping my fingers on the shutters, the sounded, and felt, like metal- and I couldn't see any locks or hinges on them. The logs that made the cabin were all in good shape; no signs of rot.

At first, when I entered the bathroom, it seemed standard- old bathtub, white sinks, white toilet. But then I realized there was no mirror, and when I tried to lift the lid on the toilet tank it wouldn't let me. There was a steel rod through the rings of the shower curtain, and when I gave the curtain itself a good tug it wouldn't budge. The bathroom had a door- no lock.

. Under the windowsill in the bathroom, I felt coolness on my fingers in one spot. I managed to remove a few pieces of insulation, then pressed my eye to the pencil-sized hole. I could see a blurry haze of green and figured it was early evening. After packing the insulation back in, I made sure there were no remnants on the floor.

An island in the middle of the kitchen had two barstools bolted to the floor on either side of it. The appliances were stainless steel, not some cheap ripoff of the real thing, and they looked brand spanking new. The white of the double enamel sinks and counter-tops sparkled and the air smelled of bleach.

When I tried to turn on the stove's burners- a gas or propane stove, mind you- ll I heard was a clicking sound. He must have disconnected the gas. I wondered if I could get any pieces of the stove apart for a minute, and I tried- but I couldn't lift up the burners, and when I looked inside the oven I discovered the racks had been taken out. The drawer underneath the oven was padlocked.

There was no way I could protect myself. No way out. I needed to prepare for the worst, but I couldn't even imagine what the worst might be.

**00000000000000**

I was shaking.

Taking a few deep breaths helped a little, and I tried to focus on the facts: he wasn't there and I was still alive. Somebody had to find me soon. I walked to the sink and put my head under the tap for some water, but before I'd even taken a mouthful I heard a key in the front door's lock- or at least what I thought was the lock. My heart lurched as the door slowly opened.

Red hair and green eyes, same face as when I met him.

My stomach churned restlessly inside me, and I had the urge to grab something- anything. But everything was locked up, tied down, out of my grasp.

He stood there as his eyes landed on me and his face suddenly broke out into a smile. Now I was looking at the man that had first said hello to me, and I got it. He was the kind of guy who could choose whether he wanted to be noticed or not.

"Good, you're up! I was beginning to think I'd given you too much," he stated and, with a bounce in his step, walked towards me. I ran back to the farthest corner in the cabin, by the bed, and, crouching, pressed myself into it. He stopped abruptly and gazed at me quizzically.

"Why are you hiding in the corner?"

"Where the hell am I?" I hissed, trying to shove myself farther back into the corner and failing.

"I realize you probably aren't feeling a hundred percent, but there's no swearing here," he blinked as he rasped before turning and walking to the sink.

"I was looking forward to our first meal together, but you slept past dinnertime, I'm afraid," he took a hude key chain out of his pocket, unlocked one of the cupboards, and picked up a glass. "Hope you're not too hungry," he ran the water and filled the glass before turning off the tap and turning to face me, his back against the counter.

"I can't break the dinnertime rule, but I'm willing to bend things a little today," he held the glass out," Your mouth must be dry."

I hated his fucking voice and his fucking... everything- but my throat was a good as sandpaper right now. Even then, I wasn't taking anything from him.

He jiggled the glass,"Can't beat cold mountain water."

He waited a couple more seconds, an eyebrow raised in question, the shrugged and turned slightly to dump the water in the sink. He rinsed the glass out, then held it up and rapped his knuckles on it,"Isn't it amazing how real this plastic looks? Things aren't always as they seem, are they?"

After drying it and putting it back in the cupboard- which he locked- he sighed and sat down on one of the barstools at the island and stretched his hands over his head.

"Gosh, does it ever feel good to relax," he rasped, and I wondered what his idea of excitement was before I realized that I'd rather not know.

"How's your leg? Sore from the needle?"

"Why am I here," my voice came out as raspy as his, and I swallowed a few times to make myself feel better.

"Ah. She speaks," he plopped his chin on his laced fingers,"That's a great question, Courtney. To put it simply, you're a very lucky girl."

"I don't consider being drugged and abducted lucky." Fire, that's what I had to be- maybe it's make this hell end faster. Maybe he'd just give up and take me back.

But as a lawyer, I knew the score. My odds weren't looking good.

His eyes flashed for a moment as he asked with a smile,"You don't think it's possible that people can sometimes come to realize what they thought was a bad even in their life was actually an extremely good event, if they knew the alternative?"

"Anything would be a better alternative than this." Come on Courtney, I thought to myself- you're a lawyer. You need to figure out what makes him tick, how far to go before he snaps. Confess, Fucker.

"Anything, Courtney? Even if the alternative to spending some time with a nice guy like me was getting into an accident- say, with a young mother coming home from a grocery store- and killing a whole family? Or maybe just one of the children, her favorite?" Against my will, my mind flashed to Mom sobbing Ava's name at the funeral.

I wondered if he was from around my hometown. If he studied me like I studied my clients and the people going against them- did he know what my tactic was, right now? Was he predicting my next move every time I spoke?

Swearing at myself in my mind, he broke through my bubble again with his rasped, condescending tone,"No answer?"

"That's not a fair comparison. You don't know what might have happened to me."

"See, there's where you're wrong. I do. I know exactly what happens to women like you," his eyes stared right through me, and fiery shivers down my spine again, my pupils dilated a little, but I tried to keep a straight face.

This was good, I convinced myself- keep him talking. If I can figure out what makes him tick, I might even be able to get away from him. Could I really, given the circumstances? No weapon. No blockade from him, and he had the keys to the door.

"Women like me? Did you know someone like me before?" I asked, trying to sound curious but fearing his answer. If his answer was yes, what happened to them?

Had he done this before?

"Have you had a chance to look around yet?" Smooth answer. Change of topic was effectively put in play as he glanced around the cabin with a smile,"I think it turned out rather well."

"If some other girl hurt you, then I'm truly sorry- I am- but it's not fair to punish me, I've never done anything to you." I tried my second tactic- guilt. Guilt him into talking. Guilt him into letting me go.

"You think this is punishment?" his eyes widened in surprise, and I tried to play my cards right.

"You can't abduct someone and take them to... wherever. You just can't do that," I softened my voice as if he was a child.

He smiled rather sweetly,"I hate to point out the obvious, but I just did. Look, how about I solve some of the mystery for you. We're on a mountain, in a cabin I handpicked for us. I've taken care of every detail so you'll be safe here." Safe? When he just abducted me?

"It took a little longer than I wanted- but while I was preparing, I got to know you better. Time well spent, I think," he sniffed after he spoke.

I didn't even know his fucking name.

"Got to- I've never even met you. I don't even know your name."

"It' Noah. Don't you think Noah is a nice name,?" his eyes held a smile as my stomach lurched again and more shivers ran down my spine.

I didn't tell him that Noah was my father's name.

I tried to remain calm as I replied,"Noah's a great name, but I think you've got me confused with some other girl, so how about you just let me go?" Go for broke, Courtney. You're running out of options.

He slowly shook his head,"I'm not the one who's confused, Courtney. In fact, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

He pulled the key-chain out of his pocket again, unlocked a cupboard in the kitchen, grabbed a big box labeled "Courtney" on the side, and brought it over the the bed.

My heart thumped harder against my ribcage with every newspaper he pulled out of the box- all of cases I'd won in the past. He held up the most recent one- the one right before the one that had taken place earlier on the day that he'd kidnapped me.

"This one's my favorite. The court address adds up perfectly with the date of the first time I saw you," he smiled as he handed me a stack of photos.

And there I was- walking Lola in the mornings and evenings, going into my office, getting coffee at my favorite Starbucks just down the road from my house. In one photo my hair was actually long, and I didn't even have the shirt I was wearing in it anymore. Had he swiped the photo from my house? There was no way- no freaking way he'd gotten past Lola. He must have stolen it from my office, I thought.

He took the photos out of my hands, stretched out on the bed with on elbow propping him up, and spread each photo out,"You're very photogenic."

"How long have you been stalking me?"

"Stalking?" his laugh was rasped and wheezy,"Observing, maybe. I certainly haven't deluded myself into thinking you're in love with me, if that's what you're wondering."

"I'm sure you're a really nice guy," I tried the nice card this time along with my guilt card and went for broke again- I had nothing left-,"but I already have a boyfriend. I'm sorry if I unintentionally did something that confused you, but I don't feel the same way you do. Maybe we can be friends-"

He smiled again, kindly, at me,"You're making me repeat myself here. I'm not confused. I know women like you don't get romantic feelings for men like me- women like you don't even see me."

"I see you, I just think you deserve someone who-"

"Someone who what? Is willing to settle? Maybe a tubby librarian? That's the best I can expect, right?"

Angry green eyes were covered by red hair.

"That's not what I meant. I'm sure you have lots to offer-"

"I'm not the problem. Women like to say they want someone who's always there for them- a lover, a friend, n equal. But once they have it, they'll throw it all away for the first man who treats them like a piece of garbage, and no matter what he does to them, they'll just keep coming back for more."

"Some women are like that, but lots aren't. My boyfriend is my equal and I love him."

"Trent?" his eyebrows shot up,"You think Trent is your equal?" He gaze a small, wheezy laugh and shook his head,"He would have been disposed of as soon as a real man came along. You were already growing bored."

"How do you know Trents name? And why are you using past tense? Did you do something to him?" I tried not to show my alarm- honestly, I did. Good lawyers aren't supposed to show alarm. It makes the witness, or the people going against us, feel empowered.

"Trent's fine. What he's going through now is nothing compared to what you'd have put him through. You didn't respect him. Not that I blame you- you could have done so much better," The Freak laughed,"Oh, wait, you just did."

"Well, I respect you, because I know you're a special guy who doesn't really want to do this, and if you just let me go, we-"

"Please don't patronize me, Courtney."

"Then what is it that you want? You still haven't told me why I'm here," I was grasping at nothing, now- trying to form a plan with not a lot to go on. He didn't like women 'like me', he didn't like swearing, and he didn't like Trent. What did that give me?

He began to sing,"Tiiiiiime is on my side," then hummed the next few bars of the Rolling Stones song as chills spread through me like wildfire. He was messed up, it was plain to see, so I had to tread carefully.

But was I still going to end it quickly? Did I really want him to fuck with my head so that maybe, just maybe, I'd get out alive?

I didn't know yet what would happen, but I wasn't fond of ending it quickly. If I had a shot to get out of here- if I could tuck my fear away and stick it out-maybe it'd be alright in the end.

"You want time? Time with me? Time to talk?" **Time to rape me, time to kill me? **

He just smiled.

When something doesn't work, you try something else. I got up, left the safety of my corner, and stood next to him.

"Listen, Noah- or whatever your name is- you have to let me go," I stated as firmly as I could. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on the edge, facing me. I leaned over right in his face and played the fact card.

"People are going to be looking for me- lots of people. It would be a hell of a lot etter for you if you let me go now." I pointed my finger at him,"I don;t want to be part of your sick game. This is crazy. You have to see-"

His hand shot out and grabbed my face so hard it felt like all of my teeth were ground together. Inch by inch, he pulled me closer to his devil green eyes. I lost my balance and was practically in his lap. The only thing holding me up was his hand on my jaw.

Voice vibrating with rage, he said,"Don't ever talk to me like that again, understand?" He forced my face up and down, tightening his grip with each down. My jaw felt like it was coming apart.

He let go.

"Look around, do you think something like this was easy to create? Do you think I just snapped my fingers and it all came together?"

He slapped me. Hard enough to pin me around before he grabbed the back of my head- his filthy hands knotting through my mocha tendrils as he slammed my face against the edge of the wardrobe.

Then he grabbed the back of my jacket and hauled me over to the bed, pushing me onto my back as my head swam, my thoughts incoherent. The veins on his forehead had popped out and his face was flushed. Lying partly on top of me, he gripped my jaw again and squeezed. His eyes stared down at me, glittering. They were going to be the last thing I saw before I died. Everything was turning black-

Then all the anger left his face. He let go and kissed my forehead- where there was no doubt a big ass bump – and my jawline, where his fingers had been digging in just seconds ago.

"Now, why did you go and make me do that? I'm trying he, Courtney, but my patience has limits," he stroked my hair and smiled.

I lay there in silence.

He left the bed and, moments later, I heard water running in the bathroom. With my photos spread around me, I stared at the ceiling. My forehead throbbed in since with my jawline while tears trickled out of the corners of my eyes.

I didn't even wipe them away.


	3. Chapter 3

_**WARNING! READ RULE WARNING NUMBER fOUR**_

_**1.)This story contains violent/offensive language and graphic situations. **_

_**2.)I apologize about taking so long for this one- I got sidetracked... **_

_**3.)Unfortunately, again, I had to borrow some dialogue from the book itself. I apologize if that fact bothers you, but as stated I am trying to branch away from that- currently though, I require the dialogue so that we may establish some things. For instance, in this particular chapter there are mentions of Courtney's family again...**_

_**4.)This chapter is short because I actually split the book's chapter in two. I split them because THE NEXT CHAPTER contains A RAPE SCENE that I will probably write because it adds to the plot. When I have the next chapter up, I will put that as the first warning. **_

_**5.)This chapter is graphic as well, and when I read the book I got chills from it- so be wary. **_

_**6.)Hope you enjoy otherwise!**_

_**~~Ashleygirl**_

_**Session Three**_

I'm sorry it took a while to come back this time, Doc. Really, I am- but if you had any insight on the shit that keeps playing over and over inside my head, I think you'd need a break, too. Maybe more than a break.

Why I wasn't in here for the past few weeks ranting my head off about my great abduction story is mostly because it's, well... it's almost Christmas. I noticed that you don't have a wreath on your door, or even a fake little tree. No, you seem to know what you're doing- holiday season's are the highest time for suicide rates, right? If I was teetering on that edge, I probably would have been pushed off it, too.

Christmas sucked when I was a kid- even now. But back then, it was really damn hard when I saw all my friends getting shit I could only ogle at through the window. My dad was a lawyer, yes, but my mom didn't work. We didn't have much money, and the holiday's were the time that reminded me of that fact, every year.

But the year before The Freak took me? That was a good year, by my standards. For once, I actually went all out- I even got myself a fricking live tree, knowing that eventually it would wither and die. But I was too damn happy to care. By the time I was done decorating my house, Trent was trying not to chuckle because I had ended up decorating every room differently and the result was our house – we were living with each other back then- looking like some weird-ass float taken from a Christmas parade.

We went on long walks together with our dogs- his was a pure-bred akita named Duke- and had snow-ball fights in our backyard. He even talking me into walking around with some of our friends and singing Christmas-carols to random people we didn't know. It was like a damn made-for-TV movie special, and I loved it.

But this year? I could give a rat's-ass about Christmas or the holidays themselves. Then again, nowadays there doesn't seem to be much that I can care about. Like when I used your bathroom before I came in and caught my reflection in that spotless mirror. Before this, I couldn't walk by any form of glass without gazing at myself.

Now? Now all I see is a stranger with the same eyes and longer hair than I've ever had before. I want to get a haircut- shove that down his throat- but every time I try to get up enough courage to walk try, I keep thinking of the scissors. The sharp things- hell, even the thought of having someone else wash my hair is enough to send me running back to the safety of my closet.

But you know what's even worse than that? I've become one of them. Those whiny, depressing people that have no fucking problem with telling you exactly how shitty their end of the stick is; and it's all delivered in a tone of voice that lets you know that they not only got the wrong end of that stick, but you got the one that was supposed to be theirs.

Probably the exact same tone I'm using now, huh, Doc? It's complete and utter bullshit, and believe me I know that it's happening but I can't fucking stop myself from talking like this. I've tried. Right when I walked in here I was going to tell you how pretty the damn lights are outside your building, how pretty the stores are all lit up, how friendly people are this time of year- and they do, and they are, but I just ended up spewing all this shit the way I am now for no reason.

Sleeping in my closet last night probably didn't help, either. I didn't really sleep, actually- I tried to at first in my own bed, but I tossed and turned, feeling eyes on me- feeling his hands on me- until I couldn't take it and dragged my blanket back down the hall to the closet. Lola sat outside and whined every time she heard me fuss, and I felt bad- poor girl thinks she's guarding me.

**00000000000000**

When The Freak came out of the bathroom he shook his finger at me, smiled, and said,"I don't forget the time that easily."

Humming some melody- I can't tell you what it was, but if I ever hear it again I swear to god I will puke- he pulled me up from the bed, spun me around, and dipped me over his knobby knee.

It was almost funny- in a sick, twisted sort of way, mind you- one minute he just about breaks my jaw and gives me a concussion, and the next he's like some goddamned picture-perfect, happy-as-can-be guy.

With a laugh at my expression, he pulled me back up and led me to the bathroom.

Tea-light candles flickered on the counter, and the air was filled with the scent of burning wax and flowers. Steam drifted over the bathtub and tulip petals floated on the water's surface.

"Time to get undressed," he rasped from behind me, and a wave of nausea settled in the pit of my stomach- I had to get naked in front of him?

What cards did I have now? What ball was in my corner of the field?

Lawyers have to be stoic, they have to play their cards right, like I've told you. But how the fuck could I play the game, when he had already swept all my cards out from under my fingertips?

"I don't want to," it came out in a whisper.

"It's time," he stared steadily at me as the bump on my forehead throbbed.

I took off my clothes.

He folded them- actually fucking folded them and took them out of the room. My face burned, and my heart was beating rapidly in my chest.

I was alone. I didn't have a courtroom filled with people there- no standard issued cops there to jump in if things got rough. I was on my own, and it wasn't my turn.

One arm was held across my chest protectively, one hand over my crotch, trying to shield my bare, mocha skin from him. He pulled them away and motioned me into the tub. When I hesitated, his face flushed and he stepped closer.

I got in the bathtub.

With that huge key-ring he unlocked one of the cabinets and pulled out a razor- a straight edged razor.

He lifted up my right leg and rested my heel on the edge of the tub, then slowly ran his hand up and down my calf and thigh, his clammy fingers, his touch, making bile rise in the back of my throat- and fear. He had a weapon. He had the upper hand. And his hands didn't have a single hair on them- they were baby-smooth, and his fingertips, where the prints were, were, well, not there. As if they'd been burned off.

Terror roared through me as I thought back to some of the murder cases my fellow lawyers had had- what kind of sick fuck burned off his fingertips?

I couldn't stop staring at the razor, watching it move closer to my leg. I couldn't even cry.

"Your legs are strong- like a dancer's. My mother was a dancer," he turned towards me when I didn't reply, too focused on the blade-,"Courtney, I'm talking to-." He sat back on his heels,"You're scared of the razor?"

He spoke as if I was a child, like I was delicate- like he hadn't just grabbed my jaw and shoved my fucking face against the edge of a wardrobe.

I nodded.

He held it up so the light could reflect on it,"The new ones just don't cut as close." He shrugged and smiled impishly before he leaned back and started _shaving my calf. _" If you remain open to this experience, you'll discover a lot about yourself. Knowing someone has life-and-death power over you can be the most erotic experience of your life." He stared hard at me,"But you already know how freeing that can be, don't you, Courtney?"

When I didn't answer, he looked back and forth between the razor and me.

"I... I don't know what you mean?" I stuttered, feeling like I was on the witness stand- and I didn't have the right answers.

"Well, your cases- you get to choose who is guilty, who gets sentenced to prison- a hell, a death of it's own- and who lives. But other than that... surely, you haven't forgotten about Ava?"

I stared at him.

"What were you again? Ten, wasn't it? And she was... seventeen? To lose someone you love so young...," he shook his head,"Things like that can really change a person."

"How do you know about Ava?" I had to force it out. The shock, the revulsion- was astounding. I couldn't think of anything else to say as his fingers tapped lightly on my calf still. Fingers that felt clammy- fingers that were cold, and could do damage in a split second.

"Your father, now, he died on the way to the hospital, correct? And Ava... how did she die again?" He didn't answer my question- but he knew. He fucking knew.

I found out how Ava had died while I was at her funeral, when I had overheard my Aunt explaining to my cousin LeShawna why Mom hadn't wanted her beautiful daughter to have an open casket. For a long time after that, my sister came to me in my dreams, holding her bleeding face, her eyes gouged with shards of glass as she screamed and wailed for me to set her free from the agony.

For months I woke up screaming.

"Why are you doing this?" My voice is small, and I hate it. Never show weakness to your opponent in court.

"Shaving your legs? Don't you find it relaxing?" He rasped, his green eyes peering at me through his red locks that had fallen down around his face. He looked almost innocent.

Well, about as innocent as he could look while he held a razor against my exposed flesh.

"That's not what I meant," I said off-handedly, looking at the wall.

"Talking about Ava? It's good to talk about these things, Courtney."

Another wave of nausea hit me, another series of why-am-I-here's coming and going as he pears at me like this is all normal. Like it's normal to hae some freak washing my naked ass and shaving my legs- after abducting me- and telling me to get my feelings out in the open. In what fucking world does this ever happen?

"Stand up and put your foot on the side f the tub, Courtney."

"I'm sorry, we can talk more. **Please** don't make me do that-"

His face went blank, and I swore I saw his jaw clench.

I stood up, water sloshing around me, bare to The Freak in ever way, and put my foot on the side of the damn tub.

Shivering, I watched the flowery scented steam roll over the side of the tub and off my body. I hate tulips. Always have. But The Freak?

He was humming.

I wanted to push him down, knee him in the groin- shove the heel of my hand up against his nose so I can crush it and... But my eyes were suddenly riveted in the blade again. He wasn't physically hurting me- no, not right now- just slightly scathing me with his fingernails when he gripped my ass to hold me in place.

The terror was huge- the sickening feel of his hands on me taking over everything in me, making me want to scream.

Years ago I went to a doctor, a middle-aged man who I'd only been to once before. It was my first time going in for a Pap smear, and I still remember him making me lie back with my whole nether-area exposed and my legs spread for him, his head between my legs. He was a weekend mechanic at some old run-down shop a mile from my house, and as he jammed a cold, metal instrument up in me he told me to think about cars.

So that's what I did as The Freak finished shaving me. I thought about cars.

When he was finished and had rinsed me off, he led me out of the tub and toweled me off rather gently- carefully. Then he unlocked the cabinet in the bathroom, took out a big bottle of lotion, and started rubbing it all over my naked, shivering body.

"Feel good doesn't it?" he rasped, his breath hitting my neck as my skin crawled everywhere. His hands were everywhere. Sliding around, rubbing lotion in as gently as any kind lover would do.

"Please stop. **Please-**," I begged, but he cut me off.

"Now why would I do that?" he said, and smiled. He took his time and didn't miss a spot.

When he was done, he left me alone- standing naked and smelling like tulips, feeling like some greased-up pig about to be led to the slaughterhouse.

I didn't have to wait long before he came back with an armful of clothes.

He made me put on tiny white lace panties- not a G-string or thong, just regular panties- and a matching strapless bra. In my size. He stood back, gave me a once-over that had me about ready to barf all over his face, and clapped his hands. Like he was congratulating himself on a job-well-done.

Then he handed me a dress- a virginal white thing I might have liked in a former life. Hell, it was a nice dress- felt expensive, too, and looked just like that famous dress of Marilyn Monroe's but not so risque.

"Spin."

When I didn't move, he raised an eyebrow and made a circular motion in the air with his finger.

The dress floated up around me as I twirled- when I had finished, he nodded his head in approval, then held his hand up and led me out of the bathroom.

And my pictures were gone from the bed, the box was nowhere in sight.

Instead, there were candles everywhere on the floor and the lights were turned down low- and there it was. The bed- enormous.

And waiting.

**00000000000000**

I'm not sure if it's the left over adrenaline from the ambulance earlier or from remembering... that, Doc, but I feel like I'm ready to bolt. Like I'm that road-runner off that old cartoon that always bolted away from the coyote- except I couldn't escape the predator that was after me. No, I ended up right in his lair.

So I'm going to end this a little early- I need to go to the restroom, and by the whites of your knuckles, how hard your grasping your clipboard, and the thing line of your mouth- I'm guessing you need a break, too.

I know next week is Christmas, and that we'll be skipping that session, and that's alright. I need some time to recollect before I get into this part of my shit again- thought I was prepared.

Guess not.


End file.
